The Fourth Side of the Triangle

Her arms tugged, and he let himself fall.

The next morning he was in a more comfortable frame of mind. Having savored the taste and depths of her, he could not doubt her. It was not a game — however brief it might turn out to be, it was not a game. He was convinced that she had told him the truth.

So Sheila was a one-man-at-a-time woman, and he had accomplished his purpose. In her forthrightness, Sheila would certainly have told his father, at the start of their affair, what she had told Dane; so it could come as no surprise to him when she broke it off.

This should send his father back to his mother, with no need for a confrontation — no need, when it came to that, for either of his parents to know how the trick had been accomplished. There was no reason for the elder McKell to learn that Sheila’s new lover was his son; and let Lutetia think her husband had settled back in the nest of his own volition. It would comfort her.

But something was — not exactly wrong; off-key, perhaps. He offered Sheila a key to his apartment, and she refused it. “Not yet, darling. I’m still enjoying my illicit status.” Instead, she offered him a key to hers.

And when the following Wednesday came, he could not see her. “I’m only human, darling,” she said over the phone, a smile in her voice. “Not tonight. Tomorrow night?”

That Wednesday night, as usual, Ashton McKell did not come home at his other-weekday hour. He was gone all evening.

Sheila had lied to him. It must be that. Yet how could it be? Or was she easing his father off? That was it. He was probably taking it hard, and she had decided to let him down gradually. Still, it meant that he and his father were sharing Sheila’s circular Hollywood bed. It left him with a vile taste.

Until Wednesday, September 14th. On that day Dane phoned his mother to ask how she was. She was fine, Lutetia said, although disappointed.

“Your father and I were planning to lunch together downtown,” Lutetia said. “While we were discussing it at breakfast, there was a phone call from Washington. It was the President’s appointments secretary. The President wanted to see Ashton today, so there went our plans.” She laughed her tinkly laugh. “I must say Father didn’t seem to appreciate the honor. He was actually annoyed. Almost balked at letting me pack his overnight bag. In the end, of course, he went. You don’t turn down the President of the United States.”

Overnight bag...

“Sheila.”

“Dane? Hi, darling!”

“See you tonight?”

“Well...”

“How about dinner at Louis’s?”

“All right, dear, but let’s make it early. I’ll have to be back before ten.”

“How come?”

“I still have gobs of work to do on my designs before the collection is finished.”

He could not help wondering what she would use as an excuse after her collection was completed. At the same time, he was puzzled. Overnight bag... Had the whole story of the presidential call been a put-up job? Or just the part about overnight?

They had Louis’s special salad, which was not on the menu, but Sheila ate it as if it had been prepared by a diner chef. He was asked please not to dawdle over his coffee. They were on the sidewalk at 9:30.

“How about a nightcap, Sheila? A quick one?”

She apparently could not find a plausible way to refuse. Upstairs: “Would you make it yourself, darling? Nothing for me. I’ll just change into my working clothes, then you’ll have to go.”

Calmly Dane said, “I’m not going.”

Sheila laughed. “Come on, pardner, have your drink and skedaddle.”

“I don’t want a drink. And I’m not going.”

Her laugh turned uncertain. “Dane, I’m not sure I like this. I must get to work.”

“You’re not going to work, and I’m not leaving.”

“I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

“You’re trying to get rid of me. I’m not going to be got rid of.”

For a moment Sheila was quiet, as if weighing certain factors against her temper. Then she said in a light voice, “Listen to the man! Are you keeping me, O Lord and Master? I pay my own rent, buddy-boy, and you stay when I say, and you leave when I tell you to, and right now I want you to leave.” When he stood there, saying nothing, her face turned to ice. “Dane, leave now. I mean now. Or you’ll be sorry.”

“My father will be here any minute, won’t he?”

It was as if he had struck her. “You know!.. I suppose you’ve known all along. I see, I see now. That’s why—”

“That’s why I’m staying. Yes, sweetie pie, that’s why.”

He was disgusted with her and with himself and with his father and even with his mother. He stripped off his jacket and laid it across the back of an armchair, and his silver cigaret case, a gift from his mother, dropped out of the pocket. He picked it up and took a cigaret and found his hands shaking so badly he could not light up.

“I’m waiting for my father,” he muttered, tossing the case on the chair. “What’s more, I intend to tell him about you and me.”

With a smothered half-cry, Sheila went to the picture window, to the door, back to the middle of the room. “All right, Dane. Stay and be damned to you. I can’t very well put you out by force.”